


Got Me So Blind

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sam's sexy grief beard, Schmoop, Season/Series 14, Sibling Incest, Top Dean Winchester, post-Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 22:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: Sam’s been acting real weird lately, and Dean is damn well going to get to the bottom of it.It would be just like Sam to find some cursed object and get himself possessed by something that wants to have Dean for lunch, in all of the twenty minutes his little brother’s been out of Dean’s sight since his return.





	Got Me So Blind

**Author's Note:**

> First time ever writing top!Dean!

 

It’s just a tiny persistent feeling in a corner of his mind at first, a faint niggling suspicion that something, somewhere, isn’t quite right. But Dean hasn’t been a hunter for years without learning to trust his instincts, so he settles back in his seat at the bunker's kitchen counter, drinks his morning coffee and keeps a sharp eye out for…something. He just isn’t quite sure what that something is yet.

His brother’s puttering around in the kitchen, rustling up a bowl of yogurt and granola after his morning run. Sam’s tanned skin is glistening with sweat, his T-shirt sticking damply to him, and while Sam’s occupied with poking around in the fridge looking for his yogurt, Dean lets his gaze trail appreciatively over the play of muscle in Sam’s broad back, the way his brother’s track pants pull snugly over the firm curve of his ass as he bends over to peer into the lower shelves of the fridge.

Just because he’ll never have Sammy the way he wishes he could – and Dean’s fine with that, he really is: Sam’s here with him, safe and relatively happy, and that’s all Dean ever needed – doesn’t mean he can’t _look_. He makes a mental note to always store Sam’s yogurt on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

Dean snaps his eyes back to the countertop as Sam turns around, triumphantly clutching his yogurt.

“Why’s my yogurt always right at the back?” Sam grumbles, pulling open a drawer to grab a spoon.

“You want me to cook for you, Sammy, you gotta let me store the ingredients where I can get at ‘em easy.” Dean grins lazily at his brother and gleefully prepares to be bitched out about how he doesn’t need to take up _all_ the shelf space in the fridge.

“Okay,” Sam says agreeably, spooning some yogurt over his bowl of granola.

“But I – what?” Dean frowns at his brother, perplexed.

“I said, okay,” Sam sets the bowl of yogurt and granola down on the counter, hops on the chair next to Dean’s and beams at him, bright and fond and Dean can’t help but grin back, heart swelling with affection the same way it always does when he’s around his little brother.

“You need to shave, man,” he tells Sam, just in case Sam thinks Dean’s gone soft or something.

It’d been something of a surprise, when he’d returned after finally casting out Michael, to see Sam sporting scruff that was at least a month and a half old, without actually having been there to watch Sam grow it. It actually looks...pretty damned sexy, if Dean’s thinking about it. Which he isn’t. Like, at all.

“Didn’t have time,” Sam says, shoveling a mix of yogurt and granola into his mouth. “Was busy looking for you.” It is, depressingly, a mark of how gone Dean is for his little brother that he finds Sam unbearably attractive even when he’s drenched in sweat and talking with his mouth full.

“Well, I’m back now,” he says, taking another gulp of his coffee.

“You are,” Sam says, turning to give Dean another wide, happy smile. Dean, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection without an accompanying near-death experience, just stares back at him, wide-eyed and startled.

A movement at the corner of his eye makes Dean tense, turning his head sharply, but it’s just Jack, who wanders into the kitchen, blithely oblivious to Dean’s scrutiny. Jack’s presence does, however, recall Dean to his mission to keep an eye out for any unusual activity in the bunker (and, needless to say, protect Sammy from it if necessary).

Dean watches with an eagle eye as Jack snags a cookie out of the jar on the counter then wanders back out of the kitchen, but decides that Jack is not the source of whatever weirdness is going on.

He turns his attention back to Sam. It takes him a while to place what’s been bothering him, but he eventually figures it out: Sam’s looking at him different from how he usually does. Dean knows all of Sam’s expressions, ranging from the exasperated ‘stop chewing with your mouth open, Dean, god, I can’t bring you anywhere’ to the tearful ‘you almost _died_ , Dean, I need to hug you right now’, but this look, he’s never seen Sam direct at him before. It’s a predatory, almost ravenous stare, Sam darting these furtive little glances at him when he thinks Dean’s not paying attention.

Dean frowns. He wonders if Sam’s been poking around in the vast storage spaces of the bunker again, because it would be just like Sam to find some cursed object and get himself possessed by something that wants to have Dean for lunch, in all of the twenty minutes his little brother’s been out of Dean’s sight since his return.

He’s got to check if Sam’s anti-possession tattoo is still intact, because who knows what the fuck’s been happening while Dean’s been gone.

Except…it’s actually pretty difficult to catch Sam without his shirt on now that they’ve got separate rooms. Dean spends the next two days hovering in Sam’s room hoping that his brother will walk out after his shower without his shirt on, but somehow Sam’s always fully clothed when he comes out of the bathroom, and he’s started giving Dean odd considering looks when he keeps finding Dean sitting on his bed after his shower.

Left with no choice, Dean prepares himself by jerking off twice the next morning because Sammy doesn’t need to find out the kind of thoughts his big brother has about him and Dean hasn’t spent years hiding said thoughts only to slip up now. Then he steels himself, walks into Sam’s room when he hears the shower running, opens the bathroom door and shoves the shower curtain aside.

“Dean, what the fuck!” Sam’s eyes are huge. He quickly tries to cover his crotch with both hands, which Dean would totally make fun of him for, except Sam’s _hard_ – oh shit, looks like Dean interrupted his baby brother’s me-time – and, fuck, Dean should totally _not_ be staring, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Sam’s decidedly impressive and very erect cock.

“D–Dean?” Sam says hesitantly. Dean drags his eyes up with difficulty, noting distantly that yeah, the tattoo’s still there – and Sam’s got that weird hungry look on his face again, eyes glued to Dean’s mouth and a deep flush painting his cheeks and extending halfway down his chest.

Dean suddenly realizes that he’s still staring at his very naked little brother (well, not so little, his lizard hindbrain gleefully notes), and shit shit _shit_ , his own cock is starting to fill, twitching jerkily in his jeans.

“Don’t use up all the hot water, bitch,” he says, probably a bit too loudly, then aims the filthiest, most suggestive smirk he can muster at Sam before hurriedly backing out of the bathroom.

They don’t talk about it.

For the next three nights in a row, Dean dreams of Sam stepping out of the shower and reaching for him, naked and aroused and dripping water everywhere. He wakes up achingly hard the first day and with sticky sheets the next two. Dean furtively dumps all his sheets in the laundry and stoically resigns himself to his fate: anything to save Sam from whatever he’s gotten himself into _this_ time.

Over the next few days, Dean ‘accidentally’ spills holy water on Sam (which had turned the thin white shirt Sam was wearing translucent, having the unintended side effect of doubling Dean’s heart rate and having absolutely no effect on Sam), theatrically trips and tangles Sam up in the length of iron chain Dean’d been carrying (all that had done was make Sam look intrigued for some reason), and spills rock salt on Sam (also with no effect).

He can’t bring himself to stab Sam with a silver knife, so he firmly rules that option out. Sam, for his part, is starting to look decidedly suspicious about Dean’s sudden attack of clumsiness.

The next afternoon, Dean finds Sam in the library of the bunker, frowning over a thick book. When he heads over to his brother to see what Sam’s doing, Sam looks up and _beams_ at him, all sweet, sincere affection and dimpled cheeks, and Dean promptly forgets what he’d been about to say.

“Christo,” he blurts.

Sam stares blankly at him. “What?” he says.

“Nothing, nevermind,” says Dean, and makes a hasty exit.

Okay, yeah, so Sam’s probably not possessed. Maybe it’s a curse or something.

 

***

 

The next night, Sam walks into Dean’s room just as Dean’s dozing off. Dean’s already reaching under his pillow for his gun and half-jerking upright as his bedroom door opens, before he realizes it’s just Sam, then he uncurls his hand from the grip of his gun and flops back limply onto his pillow.

“Dude,” he mumbles tiredly, then Sam’s at the side of the bed, shoving Dean over and clambering in beside him.

“Huh?” Dean says muzzily, still half-asleep. He shifts over purely on instinct as Sam slides into his bed. “Wha–? Sam, what’re you–”

They don’t usually share a bed unless one of them’s injured, or sick. Dean leans up on one elbow, instantly wide awake.

“You hurt, Sammy?”

“No,” says Sam. He steals the blanket and snuggles into it.

“Are you sick?” demands Dean. He reaches a hand over to feel Sam’s forehead.

Sam bats his hand away. “’m not sick,” he says, then turns on his side to face Dean, tossing an arm and a leg over him and pretty much pinning Dean to the bed because yeah, gigantaur.

“Cursed?!”

“No. Goodnight, Dean,” Sam murmurs, ignoring Dean gaping at him, and shuts his eyes. Within a minute, he’s snoring softly.

Dean debates prodding Sam back to wakefulness and demanding to know what the hell is going on, but his baby brother looks so peaceful, face relaxed in sleep and all the habitual worry that he carries around with him smoothed out of his features, that Dean just doesn’t have the heart to do it. Sam’s been looking pretty run-down lately too, probably a result of him getting all stressed out about searching for Dean.

Dean runs a gentle finger over the dark circles under Sam’s eyes and sighs to himself. His brother shifts a little in his sleep, burrowing even closer to Dean, snuffling into his shoulder. Dean smooths a few strands of hair back from Sam’s cheek, runs his thumb over the scruff of Sam’s beard. He feels a little overwarm, his giant little brother wrapped closely around him like an octopus and radiating heat like a furnace, but even so, wild horses couldn’t make him move right now.

“’night, Sammy,” he whispers, just barely brushing his lips across Sam’s temple.

It also turns out that Dean gets the most restful sleep of his life when being aggressively cuddled by Sam.

Huh.

Not that he’s gonna, y’know, _tell_ Sam that or anything.

Three days later, Dean is at his wit’s end. He’s concluded that Sam’s probably not possessed, and Sam’s already said he’s not been cursed, but he’s _still acting weird_.

He’s also been sleeping in Dean’s bed every night. Dean’s already started automatically shifting over to one side of the bed and leaving a Sam-sized space on the other side. Goddammit.

In retaliation, he makes sure he complains extra loudly every time Sam clambers into his bed. He’s got the uncomfortable feeling that Sam’s on to him though, since his little brother just blithely ignores his complaints, curls himself around Dean and goes straight to sleep every night.

 

***

 

Maybe Sam was lying to him about not being cursed. Dean frowns to himself, figuring it can’t hurt to experiment a little, see if he can figure out exactly what’s going on with his baby brother. Sam may be irritatingly close-mouthed at times, but he’s _Dean’s_ , so if there’s something wrong that Sam won’t – or can’t – tell Dean about, then it’s Dean’s job to figure it out.

He’s got plans to tune up Baby the next day, maybe give her an oil change as well. When he invites Sam to join him, Sam eagerly accepts, which is weird enough, but then he actually gets under the car with Dean and lets Dean explain what to do, even changes her oil himself, which is starting to creep Dean out, because he can’t decide if he’s more freaked out by Sam being so interested in Baby, or pleased because Sam and Baby are his two favorite things in the entire world, so there’s pretty much nothing better in Dean Winchester’s world than being around both of them at the same time.

Also, he’s maybe a little bit turned on seeing Sam in a dirty wifebeater and jeans, hair all messy from where he’s been scrambling around under the Impala, bare arms and clothes stained with motor oil, and…okay, right, Dean needs to focus. Find out what’s wrong with Sam, blah blah. Shit. Dean’s only human, okay, and Sam is really testing the limits of his concentration right now.

So…the only concrete result of the experiment with Baby is that Dean spends the next few days furiously jerking off thinking about Sam in that tight oil-stained wifebeater, sweat dripping down his neck and gleaming on his muscled arms, and – yeah. Well. Point is, he _still_ hasn’t found out what’s wrong with Sam, and to add insult to injury, his dick is starting to chafe from all the action it’s getting from his right hand.

Dean’s next thought is, maybe it’s some kind of obedience curse? Maybe Sam has to do whatever he’s asked to do – and that’s a seriously creepy thought; if that really is the case then Dean’s not letting Sam out of the bunker – or, hell, he’s not letting Sam out of his _room_ – until they fix it, because just the _thought_ of a demon, or worse – getting their hands on Sam when he’s that vulnerable makes Dean’s blood run cold.

 _That_ theory is easy enough to test. Dean usually cooks a couple of times a week, but he stops for now and sends Sam out to buy increasingly unhealthy takeout every day, discreetly tailing him to make sure nobody approaches Sam to ask him to do anything suspicious.

On the fourth day, Sam finally puts his foot down and flatly refuses to get Dean yet another triple cheeseburger, grumbling about health and cholesterol and god knows what else. 

Dean is so relieved that the obedience curse theory was wrong that he lets Sam order whatever he wants, and his heart absolutely does not fucking _flutter_ in his chest when Sam smiles happily at him as he chokes down a few leaves of the abomination that Sam calls a salad. _Fuck._

 

***

 

Ever since that Scooby-Doo incident (which, in Dean’s opinion, is still the _best thing ever_ ), Dean’s been wanting to buy a new TV to replace the one they had to destroy. He finally gets his chance when he happens to walk past a Best Buy advertising an old model of flat-screen TV on clearance, so he makes Sam go in with him and buys the TV right then and there. While he’s at it, he throws in a shag rug from the furniture store next door, because hey, the Dean Cave _totally_ needs a shag rug.

He gets the TV set up in the Dean Cave with Sam’s help and they settle down on the matching La-Z-Boy recliners with beers and a bowl of popcorn on the table between them to watch a marathon of old westerns that Dean had suggested and Sam had agreed to.

Sam sits quietly through _The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_ and _Stagecoach_ , and only starts to fidget midway through _The Magnificent Seven_. At this point, Dean just can’t stand it anymore: he hasn’t even been able to fully enjoy the movies since he’s so worried about Sam.

He goes over to the door and locks it, then leans against it, arms crossed over his chest. Sam tips his head to one side, eyeing Dean with a mix of confusion and wariness.

“Okay,” he says flatly to Sam. “What’s going on, Sammy.”

“Huh?” says Sam blankly, getting to his feet and staring at Dean.

“You’ve been acting fucking _weird_ , man,” Dean says. He counts off on his fingers. “You’ve been sleeping in my bed, you worked on Baby with me, you watched _three Westerns in a row_ without bitching about any of ‘em…”

“Oh,” Sam’s face falls. “Did you mind? I thought, maybe – ”

“What, no, of course I don’t _mind_ ,” Dean says, because now Sam’s just being ridiculous. As if Dean could mind his baby brother being with him every minute of the day, smiling at Dean like Dean’s the center of his world, climbing into Dean’s bed like he belongs there and, and…and the only problem with this is that it’s giving Dean _ideas_ , making his dumb traitorous heart ache with longing for something he can never have.

And Sammy needs to stop with the puppy eyes already, damn it, because Dean can’t _think_ when Sam’s looking at him like that, all huge pitiful eyes and wounded little pout.

“Anyway, that’s not the point, stop distracting me!” he tells Sam, then frowns deeply. “So what is it? I thought you were possessed, but that wasn't it. Are you cursed? Are you sick? Are you _dying?_ That’s it, isn’t it? You’re dying and you _didn’t fucking tell me about it_ , what the fuck, Sammy – ”

Sam cuts off his tirade by bursting into laughter. Dean’s so surprised that he actually stops talking, mouth hanging open.

“Sorry,” Sam says apologetically. “I never meant to make you worry, Dean. I didn’t even know – you should’ve said something. Just, after getting you back again, I’m…I’m tired of hiding how much you mean to me, y’know?” He ducks his head, nervously twisting his hands together. “I’m thirty-five years old, I’m _way_ past the point where I give a fuck what people think of me. I don’t care if everyone in the bunker sees me going into your room every night. I just…I’m happier when I’m around you. And I think you sleep better with me nearby, too.”

“ _Sammy,_ ” Dean says helplessly. His heart is beating fast, something secret and precious in Sam’s confession. Even if Dean dies of blue balls from having Sam in his arms every night, it’ll be worth it. What he feels for Sam – that’s something Sam doesn’t need to know, a truth that Dean will take to his grave with him. This – this is enough. More than enough, and more than Dean deserves.

“Why’d you think I was possessed, anyway?” Sam asks, a small frown creasing his brow. “It’s not like I was trying to kill you or something.”

“Dunno,” Dean says. “You kept on looking at me funny. Like,” he pauses to think about it. “Like…like you were starving and I was a salad or something.” He frowns. That didn’t come out quite right.

“ _Oh,_ ” says Sam, and _blushes_. Dean gapes at him.

“Um,” Sam fidgets, slowly turning even redder. “I, um.” He licks his lips nervously. “ _Dean,_ ” he says pleadingly.

Dean thinks about all the different ways Sam looks at him, and the little things Sam does for him even when they’re things he doesn’t particularly want to do…and also the way his little brother’s been staring at his mouth recently.

Sam had once told him about a concept called Occam’s Razor. _The simplest explanation is usually the right one,_ he’d said. He’d been talking about a hunt at the time, about why the thing they’d been hunting was probably a vamp (he’d been right. Of course.) – but, anyway. Dean’s starting to think that this Occam guy might’ve had a point.

He steps a little closer to Sam, hooks two fingers through the belt loop of his brother’s jeans and tugs Sam in. He tips his head up, lips an inch from Sam’s, and this close, Sam’s eyes are wide and dark, his breath coming quick and uneven in the heated space between them.

“Sammy?” Dean says, low.

“Please say yes,” whispers Sam, soft and open and desperate, fingers curling into the hem of Dean’s shirt.

And – god, Dean never, ever thought he could have this, is almost dizzy with the realization that the one and only thing he’s ever wanted is actually going to be his. As if Sam even has to worry about Dean’s answer – he should know better, really. If it’s Sam, Dean’s answer will always be _yes_.

“Yes,” he murmurs, low and soft, like a secret shared between them, and Sam surges forward to close down that last inch of space, presses their mouths together hot and hungry. Sam’s beard scrapes rough against Dean’s skin and Dean moans into it, loud and shameless, curling both palms around Sam’s unshaven jaw, slow rough scrape of his fingernails through the bristles.

Dean tugs gently at Sam’s lower lip with his teeth, runs his tongue along the seam of Sam’s mouth until his baby brother parts his lips and gasps into the kiss as Dean maps Sam’s mouth thoroughly with his tongue.

Sam makes a protesting noise as Dean pulls back, and he leans forward, chasing Dean’s lips with his own, fingers clutching tight in the front of Dean’s Henley.

“Easy, tiger.” Dean grins against Sam’s mouth and starts to unbutton his brother’s shirt. “Just wanna get this off.”

Dean only gets the first two buttons of Sam’s shirt open before Sam’s all over him again, tugging insistently at Dean’s shirt to drag him closer and kissing him wet and sloppy and eager, and suddenly undoing all those buttons is taking way too fucking long. He clumsily fumbles another three buttons open then just gives up and pulls the whole shirt up and over Sam’s head, tossing it aside as Sam pushes Dean’s shirt back over his shoulders, only pausing to let him shrug it off fully, then tugs Dean’s Henley up and off as well.

Dean tips his head up to kiss his little brother again; he’s gonna have one hell of a beard burn from Sam’s scruffy jaw scraping over his chin and cheeks but he can’t even give a fuck, feels so goddamned good because it’s _Sam_. Sam’s huge hands are everywhere, smoothing up Dean’s sides and over his pecs, pinching hard at his nipples, drawing a whine out of Dean’s throat as he arches into Sam’s busy fingers.

He unzips Sam’s jeans and shoves them down over his brother’s hips, then unceremoniously drops to his knees and mouths over the bulge tenting Sam’s boxers.

“Nnn – _fuck!_ ” Sam’s voice cracks as Dean seals his mouth over the cloth-covered head of Sam’s cock, hips jerking forward and huge hands coming forward to helplessly clutch at Dean’s head. Dean laps at the fabric, sucks hard until the cloth is wet with his spit, Sam’s cock jerking under his lips and Sam’s hands clenched tight in his hair, gasping, “Dean – _oh –_ ”

Sam’s long fingers are wound so tightly in Dean’s hair that at the rate he’s going, he’s probably gonna rip a bunch of hairs right off Dean’s head. Dean’s got his left hand curved over Sam’s hip, thumb tucked into the groove of his hipbone and fingers spread wide over the firm curve of his ass; his right hand is braced on Sam’s thigh. His cock’s so hard it feels like it’s going to rip a hole right through his jeans.

He uses his right hand to tug Sam’s boxers down, letting Sam’s cock spring free, gorgeously thick and flushed and wet with precome. Dean leans forward and laps hungrily at the tip of Sam’s cock, savoring the salty-bitter taste of his little brother on his tongue, and Sam whines, knees giving out; he moans Dean’s name and stumbles backward, jeans still around his ankles. He clumsily kicks his jeans off and collapses on the recliner, which – nice, just the right height for Dean to crawl forward on hands and knees, brace himself with palms spread over his brother’s strong thighs and swallow Sam’s cock.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Sam chokes out and groans deep, head thumping back against the headrest of the recliner, helplessly pushing his hips forward, and – Jesus, Sammy’s huge _everywhere_ , broad hands tangling in Dean’s hair, his cock filling Dean’s entire mouth and leaking precome over his tongue and Dean has never been this turned on in his _entire fucking life_.

He _needs_ to get a hand on his full, aching dick; keeps his lips snug around Sam’s cock but takes his hands off Sam’s thighs so he can unzip his own jeans. Sam starts tugging at Dean’s hair, gently at first but harder when he doesn’t respond, and when Dean grunts in protest and finally reluctantly lets Sam’s cock slip from his lips , Sam immediately slides off the recliner so he’s on his knees in front of Dean, covering Dean’s hands with his.

“Let me,” he babbles, “Dean, I want – ” then he’s pushing Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs down over his hips. Dean sighs in relief as Sam finally frees his throbbing cock, but then Sam’s hands still on Dean’s hips and he just _stares_ , eyes dark with lust and pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Dean groans in frustration.

“Sammy, _c’mon_ ,” and Dean’s not _begging_ , but it’s a near thing. Sam laughs soft and hungry, wraps his fingers firmly around Dean’s cock, swiping up the precome dripping from the tip and smearing it all down Dean’s shaft, and god, fucking _finally_.

Christ, it feels _amazing_ , Sam’s broad, callused fingers stroking his dick firm and sure, and Dean surges forward to kiss Sam again, cupping his brother’s face in one palm, loving the rough scratch of Sam’s stupidly sexy beard beneath his fingers. He curls his other hand around Sam’s cock, still wet with Dean’s spit; moans into his brother’s mouth as Sam rocks helplessly into his fist.

“ _God_ ,” Sam pants against Dean’s lips, “oh God, Dean, Dean, please.”

Dean nips at Sam’s lips, presses wet kisses to his cheek, his jaw; tugs gently at Sam’s earlobe with his teeth.

“What d’you want, baby boy?” he murmurs directly into Sam’s ear, feeling his brother shiver against him. “Tell me, darling. Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“Want you to fuck me,” Sam says immediately, and something about the way he says it, breathless and eager, as if – as if it’s something he’s thought about often, something he’s been wanting, _badly_ – god, it makes Dean flush hot all over, the mental image of Sam locking himself in his room, his brother spread out on his bedsheets panting and desperate, fingers of one hand up his ass and other hand gripped tight around his cock, pleasuring himself thinking about _Dean_.

“Fuck, _yeah,_ ” Dean says fervently, and lets Sam drag him down onto the thick, fluffy shag rug and kiss him senseless. He’s lying on top of Sam, his little brother kissing him open-mouthed and frantic; Sam groans and bucks his hips up into Dean’s, their cocks rubbing up together and it’s so _amazing_ that Dean kind of gets lost in it, being allowed to taste and smell and _touch_ Sam.

He winds his fingers in Sam’s stupidly long hair, pulling just this side of rough until Sam _whines_ , cock jerking against Dean’s, kiss-reddened mouth soft and wet and eyes glazed with lust – and okay, shit, he’s never gonna make fun of Sam’s girly hair ever again. Fuck. Not when tugging on it makes Sam tip his head back, baring the tempting expanse of his throat, moaning loudly when Dean mouths at the tender skin there.

Dean lets Sam drag him in for one more messy, bruising kiss before he scrambles reluctantly to his feet, kicking his jeans and boxer briefs off, and practically runs into the adjoining bathroom to grab a condom from the box stashed in the cabinet. When he returns Sam’s still sprawled naked on the rug, all pink cheeks and tousled hair, lazily jacking his cock as he eyes Dean hungrily, and Dean almost trips over his own feet in his rush to get back to Sam, crawling over him to press their bodies together hot and demanding and lick into his little brother’s mouth.

But when Dean breaks the kiss to reach over and dig around in the side pocket of the recliner, triumphantly pulling out a bottle of lube, Sam raises himself up on one elbow and blinks at him.

“Really, Dean?” he says.

“What,” Dean says to Sam’s accusing stare. “You really think I bought a giant TV to watch the Discovery channel or something?”

“Eww,” Sam says, looking a little horrified, but mostly still turned on. Dean grins.

“Man, just wait till you get a black light in here,” he tells Sam, mostly just to see Sam’s face scrunch up.

“You’re disgusting,” Sam informs him, but his cock is still rock-hard, precome beading at the tip, and he’s eagerly spreading his long, long legs wider as Dean kneels between his muscled thighs and uncaps the lube, so clearly Sam’s not all _that_ disgusted.

“Yeah?” Dean says, smirking. “I don’t hear you complaining, baby boy.” He drizzles lube liberally over his fingers and sure enough, Sam shuts the hell up once Dean circles his hole with a slick finger – well, no, he stops _talking_ , but he’s groaning deep and eager as Dean slowly presses a finger into the tight hot perfection of Sam’s body, watching Dean heatedly with lowered lashes, pink lips parted and wet.

By the time Dean’s got three fingers inside his little brother and his other hand jacking Sam’s cock, Sam’s squirming desperately on his fingers, panting open-mouthed and dripping precome all over Dean’s hand. God, Sam’s so fucking hot like this, head thrown back and lips parted, long hair fanning out beneath him and framing his face like a halo, sweat glistening on tanned skin.

He withdraws his fingers, ignoring the sound of protest that Sam makes, and crawls up over Sam to claim his brother’s mouth again, kissing him slow and thorough, propping himself up on one elbow and tangling the fingers of his other hand in Sam’s hair. He tugs hard on the silky strands just to drag more delicious little moans out of Sam, and yeah, fine, maybe Dean has a little bit of a thing for Sammy’s Disney princess hair, but who can blame him, seriously.

Sam’s hands slide up Dean’s thighs and spread wide over his ass, pulling him more snugly against Sam, their cocks lining up together, and okay fuck Dean’s gotta get up or he’s gonna shoot before he even gets his dick inside Sam.

He reluctantly disentangles himself from Sam, groping around blindly beside him for the condom; finally finds the foil packet under the bottle of lube and tears it open but has to stop halfway to bat Sam’s wandering hands away from his cock ‘cause he’s already plenty worked up and they’ve barely even gotten started. Sam grins up at him, eyes crinkled with laughter and lashes lowered almost demurely but his smile is distinctly wicked, as if he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking, and Dean can barely breathe around the punch of affection and _want_ that surges up in his chest.

Dean gets the condom on in record time and then he’s pushing slowly into Sam, so tight and hot around him and god, it’s perfect, _perfect_. Beneath him, Sam gasps Dean’s name, huge broad hands wrapping around Dean’s wrists and his cock bobbing flushed and wet between them, leaking precome onto his flat belly.

And Dean’s been with his fair share of men and women both, but not one of them has ever made him feel like _this_ : with Sam, everything feels _more_ , like he’s invincible with Sam in his arms but at the same time wholly, terrifyingly vulnerable. He’s never been one for the hand-holding, gazing-into-each-others’-eyes chick flick type crap, but he wants to spend hours just like this, buried deep inside Sam, kissing and touching and watching his baby brother come undone beneath him.

“Dean,” murmurs Sam and Dean leans forward to kiss him again, deep and sweet, bending Sam nearly in half but his little brother doesn’t seem to mind, just wraps those mile-long legs around Dean, heels digging into Dean’s back. Dean starts thrusting in earnest then, adjusting the angle until he’s ruthlessly massaging Sam’s prostate with every stroke, one hand jerking his brother’s cock, Sam panting and arching up against him, thoroughly unselfconscious and so fucking beautiful.

Sam’s tight as a vice around his cock and Dean feels his orgasm building, slow coiled pleasure low in his belly. He can tell that his brother’s close too, Sam’s cock thick and full and heavy in his hand, and just as that thought crosses his mind, Sam gasps, “oh, _god,_ ” and then he’s striping his chest and belly and Dean’s hand with thick ropes of come, mumbling, “Dean, _Dean_ – god, love you so much – ” and Dean shudders helplessly, breathless and gasping for air as he comes so hard he almost passes out.

He manages to muster up enough energy to pull slowly out of Sam before collapsing on his back next to his brother, both of them panting and sweaty and sated. He gingerly slides the condom off his softening dick, tying it off and tossing it across the room at the trash can in the corner but misses by half a mile.

Next to him, Sam snorts. “I saw that,” he says.

Dean grunts. Fuck it, the Dean cave is _his_ (well, and Sam’s, too), and he can damn well leave a condom lying around if he wants to. He slants a glance at his brother, who looks happily exhausted and fucked-out and uninclined to bitch about said condom. Dean grins contentedly to himself and lets his eyes slide shut.

He feels Sam shift next to him, then his brother’s warm weight is wrapping around him, Sam’s gigantaur arms coming up and around to pull Dean close. Sam cuddles up to him, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder, his beard brushing Dean’s cheek, and he heaves a contented sigh against Dean’s neck.

Speaking of which…Dean rubs a hand over his chin, which feels tender and a little sore.

“I think you gave me beard burn, man,” he tells Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam says, not sounding sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” says Dean.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Sam says, and Dean can _feel_ his little brother grinning against his neck.

“How,” Dean says warily.

“I’ll give you beard burn _everywhere_ tomorrow,” Sam purrs, dark and sensual, and, yeah, okay then.

“You’d better,” Dean says, and even cuddles Sam back, a little bit.

 

End.

 


End file.
